


Surviving the Dark

by Gyhl



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Abduction, Blindfolds, Brainwashing, Depression, Dissociation, Gags, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Non-con hand job, Power Imbalance, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyhl/pseuds/Gyhl
Summary: Combo Fic:-Psych 101-Where Do You Think You're Going?-Let's Hang Out Sometime-I Think I've Broken Something-I've Got You-Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950607
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Defiance** | Struggling | Crying

Eggsy wasn’t sure how long he’d been there; it could have been days or weeks. He’d been out, pickin’ up some things for Dean - probably drugs, that’s usually what those kinda runs were - and then he’d felt something in his neck. He’d been in and out of consciousness after that. He had blurry memories of being poked and prodded; of people talking over-or-around him; of being moved repeatedly. But he’d slowly come out of it; he’d come out of it to silent darkness. He hadn’t understood it until his mind had been clearer: he was in a full hood.

He’d felt it over and let his fingers follow the cord tying it shut. That cord vanished into folds of… leather?... yeah, it felt like leather… and then he followed that, and found the buckles. The _locking_ buckles. The locks were only mini padlocks and, if he could hear, he would have had them picked in no time. But… that required being able to hear.

He felt further along it. The hood ended in a collar; that, too, was locked. There was a strap going around his head, from below his jaw over the top of his head. The buckle was on the top of his head, locked. He was breathing though his nose and there was… a mouth guard, maybe?... in his mouth; that made sense enough, seeing how the strap around his head was keeping his jaws tightly shut. He felt along the front of it and found little buckles where the gag could be removed, and similar ones where piece over his eyes could be removed. These, of course, had their own locks. He felt for the breathing holes. They were small things, not even wide enough for his pinky. And that would have been fine - he could have tried to find _some_ way to tear at the leather… if not for the fact that they were riveted.

“You’re awake. Good, good.”

The voice had been modulated to make it unrecognizable, and it was _loud_ in his ears. He realized he had to have ear buds or something similar in. He felt over the hood and felt how much thicker the padding was over his ears. The silence hadn’t _just_ been from the ear buds.

“We’re going to have a few rules here, you and I.”

 _Fuck your rules_ , he thought as he felt around him. He was on some… sort of mattress?... maybe like a futon mattress? He followed that as far as he could which… wasn’t far before he hit a wall. He let his fingers move over it and realized very quickly that he was in a cage.

“Rule one: you obey orders; you do what I say, when I say it. You do that, and I won’t be forced to torture you.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes under the hood.

“Rule two: no escape attempts.”

 _Yeah, sure,_ Eggsy thought. _At least not ‘til I’m outta this cage._

“Rule three: you will never attempt to remove that hood. I will remove it on occasion so that you may wash your hair and tend to your face. During those times, you will be blindfolded. You will allow that,” his captor said. “Your future freedom depends on it. I plan on releasing you in time; right now my plan is five years. You’ll be flown back to London and left to go wherever. _But_ … that is _only_ if you can’t identify me. If you can, then you’ll never leave here alive.”

_Five years? Yeah, right. In five years, you figure you’ll have broken me and I won’t be able to handle bein’ on my own, or you’ll just pull some shit and nope, I’ll do it later. Ain’t stupid, you fuck._

“Can you agree to my rules?”

Eggsy was still for a moment and then nodded slowly. Yeah, he could obey… until he was sure he could get away from the fucker.

“Alright. I’m going to open the cage and let you out. You’re going to crawl out, stand up, and wait for me to lead you,” he said. There was a moment, and then: “The door’s open.”

Eggsy felt in front of him and found where the cage door had been. He crawled out and stood; it was a moment before he felt a hand on his back. He let himself be guided forward - three steps - and then stopped. He felt the hand slip around to his stomach and felt his captor - a man if the hardon against his arse said anything - press against him. He felt himself being forcibly bent over and flailed for something to brace himself against. He found nothing… but his captor didn’t let him fall.

It was a dominance play, and Eggsy knew it. It was to show him just how dependant he was on his captor, how little he could do without the fucker. He’d seen Dean pull shit like this enough over the years that he understood the psychology of what the son of a bitch was doing, even if he might not have proper terms for it. He knew this was part of breaking him down; he also knew his own strength wasn’t the question here. Because anyone can be brainwashed; anyone can be broken; anyone can be abused. It’s just a question of time and how intent the abuser is on doing it.

Normally it’s a slow and subtle thing at the beginning. Eggsy knew his captor had no need for that, not with him being caged. The goal, clearly, was to get his captor to trust him enough to be allowed to sleep _outside_ of the cage. If he could keep that goal in mind, then maybe - maybe - he could stave off the effects of the abuse long enough to get away.

He forced himself to bring his hands to his captor’s arms and hold on. A soft but clearly amused laugh came over the ear buds.

“Good boy,” the captor said, straightening up. “Now, undress.”

Eggsy undressed; shirt first, jeans and boxers next. He started when he felt his captor’s hand close around his cock. It wasn’t surprise at that touch, itself; it was not being able to see the man moving. He felt the hand start gently stroking him and he fought to stay still.

“Good,” the captor said. “Don’t fight me. That’s right. Enjoy your reward.”

Eggsy felt his stomach clench even as he felt himself moving to meet the hand. This was how he was gonna be rewarded? By bein’ pulled off by this fucker? Fuck, couldn’t the guy do somethin’ _else_? Cos he did _not_ want to associate cuming with him. And he didn’t want to associate cuming as havin’ made the fucker happy when he _knew_ the bastard was gonna rape him eventually.

“Stop fighting me,” the man purred. “Yes, good. Good. It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Eggsy fought to not step back, not stagger, as his breathing grew ragged. He felt a hand on his back and felt himself being held up. Fuck, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to have to go along with it. He felt himself just on the verge of cuming and…

“That’s enough, I think,” the captor said as he let go of Eggsy’s cock. “We’re going upstairs and you’re going to learn your tasks. Do well, and you’ll be rewarded. Do poorly, and I’ll beat you.”

Upstairs. Upstairs was good. He wasn’t sure what ‘tasks’ he was gonna be doing while blinded, but if he could get good enough at it to not be beaten, he could start gaining his captor’s trust. It would take time, but… apparently all he had was time.


	2. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Run | **Failed Escape** | Rescue

Time had no meaning in his (mostly) silent darkness, and with every day being the same basic routine, he’d quickly lost track of how many days it had been since he’d woken up in the cage. He’d wake up in his captor’s bed, hands cuffed above his head and ankles chained together. More often than not, he’d be raped before being released, as much as he could call it ‘released’. His captor - a man he still had no name for - would shackle a ten kilogram ball to each ankle before unchaining him from the bed. The balls were padded to keep from scuffing up the captor’s kitchen floor, something Eggsy found sickeningly hilarious.

He’d fought having the balls put on him once. He’d been beaten for it, soundly, and then dragged back into the basement. Apparently there were more things in the basement than just that cage. There was a sensory deprivation tank. The hood did enough on its own, but at least he knew which way was up. Once he was floating in that water, his wrists and ankles loosely held in place, it felt as if he was falling constantly. There was nothing to touch, to hear, to see. And then his mind - starved for stimuli - started picking up on any tiny thing. He started seeing things, hearing things, and he’d panicked.

He hadn’t fought it since.

Some days he was allowed a wrap to wear. It felt as if it barely covered anything, but Eggsy wasn’t certain how much of that was not being able to see the wrap and how much of it was because it really was that small. He didn’t think there was a pattern to when he was and was not allowed to wear one.

Today he’d been allowed to wear one. He’d gone from the bedroom - 5 steps to the hall, right turn, 8 steps into the sitting room, left turn, 3 steps - to the kitchen. From there it was only a handful of steps to the table and to his seat at it. His seat; facing away from the sitting room, left side. Sitting in a different seat was grounds for a beating but not grounds for more.

Once seated, he waited, waited for his captor to make his own meal and to bring his to the table. He would know it was there when he felt the strap holding his jaw shut loosen and the gag was removed. His meal was always directly in front of him, spoon slightly to the right of the bowl, glass of water behind that. His captor had called it a ‘watered down nutrient paste’; he thought it might taste better coming back up. He’d gagged the first time he’d had to eat it; gagged and then been threatened if he didn’t keep it down.

After eating, he was to take it to the sink - left turn, 3 steps, kitchen island, right turn, 4 steps, left turn, 5 steps, right turn - and wash his bowl, his spoon, his glass. There was a dish rack behind the faucet; they went there after he’d cleaned them. Then it was back to the table, to his seat, to wait for his captor to finish. He’d know it when the gag was at his lips again, to be taken back into his mouth without a fight, to be locked in, strapped in.

And then it was time for his ‘tasks’. He would go back to the sink, get the bucket, soap, and a rag out, and then wash the floor. Wash it, dry it, put the things back, and take the rag to the hall closet past the dining area to be put into the hamper.

Then it was back to the sitting room. There was a sofa facing away from the kitchen and dining area. It faced the entertainment center. To the right was a loveseat, to the left some shelves. He vacuumed; the wall socket had a frame around it to make it easier for him to find. He did the left side first, and then the right side. He made sure to not pass in front of his captor’s seat - the seat closest to the loveseat. If he passed in front and his captor was there, it was grounds for a beating.

He was just avoiding them to gain his captor’s trust. That’s all. It wasn’t at all that being inside the hood was claustrophobic enough for him. Or that the sensory deprivation tank had terrified him in a way he’d never been. He was just… earning trust. That was all.

After, he knelt beside his captor’s seat. He was allowed to stand if his legs fell asleep, but only until he had the feeling back. He stayed there in the silent darkness until he heard his captor’s voice. And God, he hated that he _needed_ to hear it; that he needed that _contact_ ; that sometimes he was willing to obey just to hear anything.

He had to get out. Had to.

His chance came… days?... a few weeks?... after he’d been taken out of the cage. After ‘breakfast’, he was taken downstairs. With the balls on his ankles, he’d been made to go first. He’d gotten most of the way down fine, but then one of the balls had slipped - pushed, not that he’d realized - and it had pulled his leg out from under him and dragged him the rest of the way down.

“Poor thing.”

He felt hands on his arms and was helped to his feet. He could feel how scraped up his back was. He felt… stupid and clumsy, and he felt the smallest stirring of gratitude for his captor’s help. He tried to shove that feeling down. He didn’t want to feel that, and he would _not_.

“That’s a nasty scrap. I’ll take care of it when I get back.”

Eggsy’s breath caught on those words, even as he was being led… five, six… to the tank? He shook his head, moaning in fear behind the gag. It was too muffled to be heard through it.

“You’re not going in the tank. You’ve been good.”

Eggsy nodded, shuddering. Yes, they… nine, ten… they were passing the tank.

“Present.”

Eggsy knelt, put his hands on the ground, and then bent forward until his head was between his hands and touching the floor.

“Hands behind you.”

Eggsy shifted enough to rebalance and then put his hands behind his back. He felt chain being wrapped around them and then his wrists being pulled up just enough to pull them off of his back.

“If you’re like that when I return, I’ll take the mask off and let you watch something.”

Eggsy shivered at the thought of seeing something, _anything_. But the idea of his captor _leaving_ was more enticing. He knew where the door was; there was a set of three stairs going down to a pebble stone floor. The stairs to the basement were to the right; home office to the left. The door was straight across. He knew because he’d been shown, once, where the office was, because eventually he was going to learn how to help in there, as well. His captor had guided his hand to the door and told him, ‘ _if I ever catch you touching this door, I will do more than just torture you_ ’. But he’d felt the cool glass and, as his hand slid down, he realized it was a house door, not a room door.

How long would it take the man to leave? How could he even be sure the man was gone? He couldn’t know. He settled on counting, slowly, to two-thousand. Cos that was… was close to a half-hour, yeah? He did the math again in his head before starting. But… was he going too fast? Too slow? Was this faceless man just waiting behind him, watching to see if he’d obey or not? He got just past 1,500 when he decided he _had_ to find out before he froze.

Slowly, so slowly, he worked the chain on his wrists. It felt like forever before he felt one loop moving - tightly, and painfully so - over his thumb. He pushed at it a little more… a little morrre… and the loop popped off of his hand. He brought his hands down slowly, his arms screaming from having been held like that (how long had that taken?!), and then got to his feet.

Noting happened and he could feel himself freezing. Part of him was screaming to get back down on the floor and put his hands behind him. It would be okay if he did that! His captor would understand and would be pleased that he’d been Good instead of running. 

He forced himself to turn and take the first step. That part of his mind screamed all the more, but it quieted as he drew closer to the ( _tank, oh God, it’s right here, right here, oh God_ ) stairs. Three… two… one… left turn. He put his hand out and the bannister was there. Oh, fuck, was he really going to do this?

He took a deep but shuddering breath and stepped up onto the stair. He lifted his other foot and dragged the ball up onto the first stair and set his foot down on the second. It was only twelve stairs. He could do this. He would just have to be careful to make sure the ball was back against the first stair before he stepped down on the second.

It was an eternity before his hand fell on the door. He felt for the knob and he was surprised when it turned easily in his hand. He got up and out of the door, closing it behind him. He didn’t want his captor realizing that he was gone right away. He made his way to the door, unlocked it, and stepped outside.

It was cool out. Not cool enough to be winter, but definitely late autumn. He hoped autumn and not spring. Could it have been _that_ long? No… no he would have realized if he’d been captive for more than a few months. Right? All the days couldn’t just blur together like that and make him miss _months_ , right?

He shoved the thoughts aside. He needed to _move_ and he was in completely unknown territory. He tapped ahead of himself with his foot until he found the steps down. There was pavement below his feet and he walked along it, keeping one foot in the grass beside the pavement. It wasn’t too far before both feet were on pavement. Was it a street or the driveway?

He walked across it, trying to picture the width. It was… was single lane? Yeah, that… that seemed right. So a driveway or a privately owned street. But which way to go? If he turned around, that would lead him… beside the house? Alright, so it couldn’t be _that_ way; it had to be straight ahead.

He followed the pavement, keeping one foot on the grass beside it. The ten kilos per ankle made for some very slow, exhausting going, but he couldn’t let himself stop. He _couldn’t_. He was breathing hard under the hood by the time he found another crossways.

 _Be fuckin’ hilarious if I got hit right now_ , he thought, and then walked across this new pavement.

It was wider. Not wide enough to be a two lane road, he didn’t think. Not a proper one, anyway. Maybe one of those two laned roads that should really be one but _can_ fit two cars? Fuck, how far out from civilization was he? And how to pick which way?

He sighed through his nose and turned left. He’d follow that and hope it led somewhere. And, hopefully, to some _one_ who’d realize he needed help and not… take advantage of the situation. But… either no one passed him or no one wanted to see what in fuck was going on with some mostly naked guy in a hood with a ball and chain on each ankle.

He was getting tired. So fucking tired. The only thing that even happened was the road softly turning every so often. His mind disengaged and he walked mostly on autopilot for a while before something started nagging at his mind. It took a bit before he realized… the road was only turning right.

_Oh, please no…_

He found where the current curve straightened out and started counting steps. He found another curve and started counting again when that straightened out. He’d come to the same number of steps before coming to a curve again. He had been walking in circles around… Fuck, there’re what? Four steps in three metres? Okay, but the balls didn’t have much chain on them; maybe a foot? So, so, so, three steps is a metre, then… then…

A strangled cry rose in his throat when he realized he’d been walking around a sprinting track.

He went to his knees, fighting to not cry. If he started crying, his nose would run. If his nose ran, he wouldn’t be able to fucking breathe. He didn’t have the strength to find where the… the… the _whatever_ met the fucking track and then find the road from there.

“You figured it out two hours faster than my last toy.”

His hands came up, trying to fight off his captor and finding only air. 

“Smart, lovely, a good fuck. You certainly were worth the price. But then… my collector knows _just_ what I like.”

Eggsy felt hands on his arms - behind him - and he tried to fight off his captor. But he was tired, so tired.

“But you had to go and break the rules,” the captor said in a lightly chiding tone. “And that means I’m going to _have_ to torture you.”

Eggsy shook his head.

“No? Well, maybe you’ll think about that next time.”

He struggled to pull away and he thought he actually got free of one hand… but then he felt pain in his shoulder. Almost a sting. He whined weakly even as he felt the tranquilizer take effect. He was too weak to fight both his captor _and_ the drug, so he let the later take him.


	3. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking Up Restrained | **Shackled** | Hanging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20°C = 68°F

He’d stopped screaming… days? ago... Had it just been 'days'? He didn’t know. He didn’t have his tasks and being taken to bed to tell him when a day ended and another began. He was in a full latex suit, complete with a hood. The only opening in the hood was a hole for a breathing tube. He had an IV in his right hand. The tube ran along his arm before exiting the suit just below his elbow. He didn’t know if the IV had its own tube to go through or if it was just airtight some other way. And he had a catheter in, one that just held him open, giving him no choice in whether or not he urinated into _that_ tube.

There was pressure around his wrists and ankles, and they went to whatever chains or whatever were holding him in place. Not that he needed to be held in place, really. The water in the sensory deprivation tank was… thick enough? salty enough? something... so that he didn’t actually move. But at the same time, he felt like he was moving. Floating, falling, something.

He’d been hearing things again. He thought he was imaging them; he _knew_ he was imagining some of them. But he… he… right, he didn’t have ear buds or ear plugs or anything in his ears. That’s how he knew. Right. Right.

He was so thirsty, but he could cry. So he knew he was getting enough through the IV to keep him hydrated and alive, even if his mouth was dry. Dry because he wasn’t actually drinking anything. It hadn’t helped that he’d screamed himself hoarse.

He would have begged to be let out… but the breathing tube went far enough back to hold his tongue down, and it was wide enough that it may as well have been a gag. Shouldn’t have run. Shouldn’t have run. God, he shouldn’t have run. And when he was let out…

No, no, he wouldn’t tell his captor that.

But if he did, maybe he could stay out of the tank. Maybe.

Shut up. Just. Just shut up.

Still shouldn’t have run.

He felt something tug on his ankles, and the his wrists. He thought he was hallucinating for a moment before his stomach flipped and he was yanked up. Oh, _oh fuck_. He’d been… upside down? Angled downward? Something like that.

And then his body had _weight_ again, and it was so _heavy_. He felt himself being moved, swung, and then lowered. And then _solid_. There was something _solid_ under him. Solid; sweet, sweet, solid floor. He let out a sob.

He felt warm air on his back as the suit was unzipped, and he waited - oh, God, he waited - to feel simple, human contact. But the hands that touched him were in latex gloves and he sobbed. _Please touch me_ he tried to cry around the tube in his mouth, but nothing came. No word, no skin-to-skin contact, not even the gloved hand. He wanted to yell it again, but… but what if that’s why he hadn’t been touched again?

It was a moment and then the gloved hands were back. Yes, yes, he could be quiet. Quiet, so quiet. Quiet as his legs were yanked up again and the suit worked off of him. Quiet as he was lowered back onto the cold, cold floor. Quiet as the catheter was removed. Quiet as he… _oh God, the hood was being loosened_.

He squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t just that he’d been in the dark for… for… forever now. It was that _if he saw his captor, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave ever_. He felt the hood taken off of him and he was guided to sit up. He kept his eyes shut, shivering despite how warm the room was. And then he felt the ear buds being put in his ears.

“What a good boy. Keeping your eyes shut.”

He cried out at the voice; at the voice that was _real_ and not in his head; at the voice that wasn’t his mind trying desperately to find some stimulus.

“Cold, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“The water in the tank is, mm, 20° or so. You’re hypothermic, but I kept you warm enough that you wouldn’t die. That was kind of me, wasn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

“I’m sorry!” It came out faster than he meant for it to, and a bit more frantic sounding. But he didn’t want to go back in the tank.

“Yes, I know you are, sweet boy,” his captor purred. “But I meant about my being kind. What do you say to someone who does something nice for you?”

“I… thank you?”

“Good boy.”

And then he felt his captor’s hands, his bare hands, on him. He cried out and leaned toward them.

“Would you like a hot bath, sweet boy?”

He nodded.

“Come on,” his captor said.

He got to his feet with his captor’s help. Fuck, the man was _warm_ ; so warm. But then he was being guided forward. He went to take a step, staggered, and nearly fell over. He was moving easily? Why? Why was he… _Right_! No balls on his ankles. Not yet. He would be Good and not try to run. He didn’t want to be in the tank again.

He was guided up the steps and then he started counting, turning when he needed to, until they were in the bathroom. He was guided to the bath and in and _ohGodsohotwarmhotgood_. He wanted to just curl up in the warmth, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He sat up and moved forward.

He felt his captor get in behind him, felt hands on his arms, and felt himself being pulled against bare skin. He pressed against the bare skin; the warm, bare skin. And he sobbed. And those hands pet his hair. He relaxed as he warmed; calmed as he warmed. And he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from his captor, from the contact.

“Let’s get out now.”

He nodded and got out of the water. Part of him wanted to try and bolt, to try and fight… but… the tank. He couldn’t go back in there. So he stayed still… and he jumped when he felt his captor tying something around his head and covering his eyes.

“You may open your eyes, sweet boy,” his captor said. “You don’t _need_ the hood anymore, do you?”

Eggsy shook his head.

“Good boy. Go into the sitting room and wait for me.”

Eggsy did as he was told, and he only knew his captor was there when he felt a hand on his ankle. He started and then forced himself to keep still. He felt a shackle close around his ankle and he assumed that it was the ball and chain. That was okay; he was going to be Good now.

“Lay on the floor, on your side so the shackle is on top.”

Eggsy gave his ankle an experimental shake and didn’t… didn’t feel the ball. Maybe he had a longer chain now? He laid down the way he’d been told to and then waited. Waited while his captor did… whatever he did.

“You may sit up now.”

He sat up and then he felt something at his lips. He opened his mouth and felt a mouthguard being pushed in, followed by the straps going around his head. And then… _then_ the earbuds were pulled out.

“We don’t need these anymore.”

He whined at hearing his captor’s undisguised voice. And then the blindfold was pulled away. He squeezed his eyes shut and then felt a hand on his cheek.

“You don’t have to do that, sweet boy,” his captor said. “Look at your chain. Go on. Look.”

Eggsy tipped his head toward the chain before opening his eyes. He could see where a keyhole had been… and it had been soldered shut. He looked up at his captor, seeing the man’s face for the first time, and shook his head.

“I told you not to run.”

Eggsy whined behind the gag.

“Now you’re never leaving.”


	4. I Think I've Broken Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Broken Down** | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

Autumn passed and the first snow fell. It was… kinda pretty, he guessed. The house was in the middle of a… he _guessed_ square clearing in a wood. He could only see out from the kitchen and sitting room, and from the bedroom. He could see the goddamn sprinting track from the bedroom; he never looked out that window.

There was a grave marker outside; he could see it from the kitchen and sitting room windows. Well, the entire wall was made up of windows, really. He’d tried breaking it; he couldn’t. Not that it would matter. Not with the shackle soldered shut. Forever.

Eggsy’d asked about the grave marker. It had been his captor’s first ‘toy’. A woman. She’d tried to run, too, only he’d decided he didn’t want to keep _her_. So he’d buried her. She’d still been alive at the time. He’d tied her up and dumped her in the grave. And then he’d used a rented JCB to just… fill in the grave, dumping bucket load after bucket load on her.

Eggsy hadn’t asked after anything he’d noticed since.

Winter passed, spring came. After that… he wasn’t sure. Was it summer? It could be. His captor didn’t keep anything with a date on it, not where he could see it. After the green had come back, he’d lost track. 

He was working on dinner. That was a task he’d been given since he’d the hood had been taken away. He was working on bread dough. It was good; it was mindless. He was kneading it and just… spacing out. The timer went off and he looked down at the dough. Next was to put it in the proving drawer for a while. He put it back in the bowl, covered it loosely, and set it inside. He set the timer again and started toward the sitting room, his chain dragging behind him.

He’d barely passed from the wooden floor to the carpet when another buzzer went off. He went over to a dispenser and took out a pill container. He thought they were antidepressants or something similar. Or maybe tranqs. Whatever they were, they made him feel less; that made it easier to deal with being… here. Forever.

He dumped them into his hand and put the container back in the dispenser. He took them and then looked at the dispenser. His captor filled it again every night, and then he took them in the morning and early evening. And now that he was waiting on the dough, he would just-

The door opened.

“I’m home, sweet boy.”

He waited until his captor came into the kitchen. “Welcome home,” he muttered… and then noticed the white box in the man’s hands.

“Do you know what today is?”

He shook his head.

His captor set the box on the counter and opened it up. There was a cake inside. A cake covered in white fondant with a rose at the top. There were two little cartoon hearts at the bottom and above them it said ‘Happy Birthday My Sweet Gary’.

Eggsy started. He’d never said his name, never been asked it. “H-how…?”

“Oh, my collector gathers dossiers on her targets and shows them to me before taking one,” he said. “I _chose_ you. Out of the men she sent me, _you_ were the one I wanted. You hadn’t quite turned eighteen yet and then you made me torture you, so we had to wait until this year to celebrate.”

Eggsy choked back a sob.

“You’ve been here for just a bit over a year now.”

He looked down at the cake. He wanted to throw it off the counter. He wanted to scream. But he’d learned - oh, _God_ , he’d learned - that there were things just as bad as the tank that his chain was long enough to let him reach.

“And since it’s your birthday, you get _one_ request.”

“Let me go?” He wasn’t surprised at all when his captor struck him across the face. He lowered his head for a moment before looking up at him. “My… my mum! Lemme talk to her! Please! I won’t say nothin’ ‘bout where I am! Won’t say nothin’ ‘bout you! Please! She… she…”

He nodded. “I thought that might be your request. I had my collector check on her. Your mother’s gone.”

“G- What’d’you mean?!”

“I mean, she’s gone. Your step-father still lives in the flat, with a woman about your age. The collector has no idea where your mother is.”

“You-!”

His captor watched him blandly and that… that was the worst part. Like the man knew he wouldn’t _do_ anything. And then he watched as the man unlocked the drawer where all the sharp utensils were and opened it.

“Go on, then,” he said.

Eggsy grabbed one of the knives - it was a chef’s knife - and held it up. He was gonna stab the motherfucker. He was gonna _kill_ him.

“Go on,” his captor repeated. “Kill me. I suggest killing yourself while you’re at it. No one will come here before you’ve run out of food and starved. You could always cut your leg off, but you’ll bleed out before you get far. And it’s not as if there’s anyone left in the world who cares about you, _except_ for me.”

Eggsy took a step forward and brought the knife up to his captor’s neck. He was going to do it. He _was_. Even if his hand was shaking. Even if he could feel himself backing down. Even if his eyes were burning with tears. Even if…

His captor gently plucked the knife from his hand. “Get us some plates and we’ll have some cake.”

Eggsy stared at him for a moment before bowing his head. He didn’t _have_ any fight left, did he? He went and got them a couple dessert plates and set them on the counter. “Do I get to know your name now?”

“You already used your request,” he said as he cut a slice. “Maybe next year.” 


	5. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Support** | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Eggsy was staring at his face in the mirror. His hair was too long for how he liked. It wasn’t _long_ ; it wasn’t even long enough to touch his shoulders. But. It was longer than he liked. It was how _sir_ liked it.

All this time… and that was still the only name he had for his captor.

He’d come home with another cake a week ago. It was always a romantic cake, although it had only had his name on it the first time. The other _nine fucking times_ it had read ‘sweet boy’. That was all the man called him, his sweet boy.

He’d tried killing himself once; _once_ and never again. It had been shortly after his twentieth birthday. His punishment had lasted a month and it still frightened him badly enough that he didn’t _dare_ try again.

He was going to die here, chained up and unable to escape; he’d accepted that by his twenty-first birthday. His request _that_ year had been to be allowed to get drunk. He’d gotten drunk enough to black out and woke up to the feel of dried cum between his thighs. No surprise there.

He sighed and left the bathroom. He still had an hour before he had to start on supper; ninety minutes before sir would leave his office. He went and sat on the sofa and stared at the dark tv. He was only allowed to watch it if sir was in the room. He just… let himself zone out and drift. He’d hear the alarm when it went off. His entire life was wait for an alarm, do task, wait for alarm.

He heard a bell and stood up, and then realized it wasn’t the alarm. After a few moments, he heard the door open and heard sir greeting someone. He waited for a moment, to be certain that he only heard two voices, both male. Sir rarely had people over; it was hard to explain to people who weren’t like _him_ why there was a mostly naked man with a shackle around his ankle wandering around. The few times he _did_ have someone over, Eggsy knew he would be expected to have drinks waiting in the sitting room.

He got them and then sat in the centre of the sofa. He knew sir would tell their guest to sit on the loveseat. This was _his_ place. He waited until he heard them coming and stood, a smile forcibly frozen in place.

“And this,” his captor said as he came into the room, “is my sweet boy.”

Eggsy looked at their guests. There were two of them; one man, one woman in chains. The man was tall, wearing a suit and glasses, and… well… he was good-looking. There would be that, at least. The woman was short with long hair. She was in a short, loose shift; her ankles were chained with enough slack for a small step and her wrists were cuffed. She was gagged but he could see the fire in her eyes.

“He’s… lovely,” the man purred. “I can see why you decided to keep him.”

His captor motioned to the loveseat and then took his own seat. He took Eggsy by the hand and Eggsy sat beside him. He let go of Eggsy’s hand and let that hand slip in between Eggsy’s legs; Eggsy let them open, going wider as the hand slipped higher. It stopped not far under his wrap.

“Very well trained,” the man said appreciatively.

“It took some doing, but there’s no pet I can’t break.”

The man chuckled. “You’ll have a time of it with her.”

Eggsy started. “Sir? Are you getting rid of me?” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear more: that he was about to be killed or that he wasn’t.

“Of course not,” he said. “I told you; I’m keeping you for the rest of my life, even if it’s in a grave in the yard. My friend here just… can’t break her. So _we’re_ going to.”

“...we?”

“That’s right. She’s going to do your cleaning from now on,” he said, a little smirk growing. “The hood and balls worked well enough for you. I’m sure they’ll help her learn her place.”

Eggsy shuddered.

The hand slid the rest of the way to Eggsy’s cock. “Why don’t you show me what a good boy you’ll be? My friend is going to take her into the bedroom. Help him get her tied to the bed and then fuck her.”

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly.

He stood and followed the man into the bedroom. He helped force her down onto the mattress and held her while the man cuffed her in place. They forced her legs apart and Eggsy got between them.

Fuck, he didn’t want to do this. He could feel himself shaking against the woman. This was… How was he…

“Ah, yes, there’s something I need to discuss with your owner. Do, uh, carry on with out me.”

Eggsy heard the door shut and lowered his head. He choked back a sob that was as much fear as it was relief. He looked up at her and felt the gag’s buckle; it wasn’t locked on her.

“Can you keep from screaming?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

She nodded, once.

He took the gag off of her, but left it beside her head. He wanted it to look like he’d just taken it off of her to forcibly kiss her. “Will he check?”

“What?”

“To make sure I fucked you.”

She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “No… he. No.”

“I have to stay against you like this. I don’t… want them knowing.”

“I understand,” she said with a nod. “Thank you… for not being… well.”

“What’s your name?”

“Roxy.”

“He calls me 'sweet boy',” he said. “Other people... a long time ago... they called me 'Eggsy'."

"Is it alright if I call you that?"

"Yeah," he said with the barest hint of a smile. She was nice. She didn't deserve this. Well, no one did, really. "The more you fight him, the worse it’s gonna be. He don’t always leave the house and… I know I ain’t always gonna be able to… to just…”

“Not do what he wants.”

He nodded. “Yeah…”

“What if we escape?”

Eggsy shook his head. “I won’t stop you if you try, but I can’t. The shackle’s soldered shut. I can’t ever leave.”

“How long have you…”

“Ten years.”

She nodded slowly. “He must… trust you by now.”

“Yeah? Ain’t gonna break the shackle off me though.”

“But you know things, right? Say… where his safe is? The combination?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said with a shrug. “Ain’t nothin’ in there that’ll help you though. Paperwork, contacts, his dealings with his ‘collector’, shit like that.”

She did something that worried Eggsy: she smiled. She smiled like she’d won at something. He was about to ask her _what_ about that made her smile when they heard the door knob turn. She turned her head away and… and she fuckin’ burst into tears. She was sobbing like he _had_ raped her; quietly but still so heavily. The shocked look was still on his face when the door opened.

“Oh, sweet boy,” his captor sighed. “You make me so happy.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her cry,” the man said, the surprise barely showing in his voice.

“Ohh, there’ll be a lot of that, won’t there, my sweet boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you enjoy yourself? Did you like watching her cry? Knowing she couldn’t stop you?”

Eggsy looked away from him.

“You know better than to ignore me,” he said, all the cheer going out of his voice as if it had never been there.

“No, sir,” he said softly.

He shrugged. “You’ll learn to,” he said simply. “Or you’ll just keep doing it because I told you to.”

Eggsy got up, slowly and making certain her shift was low enough to keep her from being exposed. His captor grabbed him by the arm… and then pushed him at the man.

“Hold him.”

The panic was clear on Eggsy’s face. He should have lied! He should have said he’d enjoyed it! Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He was only half-aware of the irritated sigh from the man, or of his reaching into his suit coat. But the shot that rang out? He was fully aware of that. Just as he was aware of his captor falling.

“Apologies, Lancelot,” the man said.

She shook her head, unmindful of the blood that had sprayed on her legs. “Unchain me. We can still get what we need, Arthur.”

Eggsy watched as ‘Arthur’ sat on the bed and started unchaining ‘Lancelot’. Code names. Now her asking about the safe made sense.

“And how do you plan on that?”

“Eggsy’ll help,” she said and looked at him. “Won’t you?”

“Eggsy?”

The man stood and looked at him in a way he did _not_ like. It was… almost analytical and then the man nodded to himself. But Eggsy could see the fury in those dark eyes. Oh, God, this guy was gonna do a lot more than just beat him.

“I didn’t actually… I mean… I didn’t fuck your girl!”

But that didn’t seem to help the anger. And when the man reached into his suit coat again, Eggsy realized he’d only made it worse. The man turned even as the gun came out. He fired four times in quick succession… into the corpse. Eggsy could see the fury still in the man’s face as he holstered the gun again, and then he saw the man push it down.

“My name’s Harry Hart,” the man said. “And I have been looking for you for a long time, Eggsy.” He’d actually given up on finding Eggsy alive. Statistically, if a person isn’t found within a year, they won’t be found alive.

“Oh.”

“Will you help us?” Harry asked softly. “It’s alright if you don’t want to. Lancelot and I can manage.”

“Dunno what I can do,” he said with a shrug. “Guessin’ you want me to open the safe?”

“If you would, please,” Harry said.

“And if there’s anything else about the collector,” Roxy said. “We need that, as well.”

“Sure,” he said. “I know I ain’t got no right, but… d’you mind shootin’ me before you go? Lock’s soldered shut, so…”

“You’re coming home with us, Eggsy,” Harry said gently. He thought about it for a moment and then put a hand on Eggsy’s arm. He kept his touch light and gentle. “I promise you, Eggsy: this is over and _no one_ is ever going to lay a hand on you again.”

Eggsy shrugged and went into the office to unlock the safe. He heard one of his alarms go off while he was in there. He made sure ‘Arthur’ and ‘Lancelot’ had everything they needed before going into the kitchen. He got the caddy with his meds in it and took them before sitting on the sofa and staring up at the blank tv screen.

He figured he’d just wait until the next alarm went off and start on supper. Just… for himself, apparently. He was certain the other two would leave him, because who was left in the world who wanted some secret agent bloke to rescue him?

Once they had what they needed, Eggsy heard the door open and close. He’d never figured he’d die at twenty-eight. Sir had enjoyed him too much for that. But… he’d never thought someone would just… shoot him. Or leave him to starve.

He heard the door open and close again and frowned. He looked in the direction of the door and heard the two agents coming up the hallway. They had a bag with them and he watched, dumbfounded, as they mixed some cologne and some shaving cream and then spread it on his chain. It was only a moment before the chain fell away and he stared at the broken chain, because that wasn’t supposed to happen. He was never leaving the house again.

And then Harry and Roxy were guiding him to his feet and helping him to the door. Harry put his suit coat around his shoulders and Eggsy held on to it, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t some strange, vivid dream. They got him outside and the smell of fresh air hit him. He sagged against Harry and wept.


	6. Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poisoned | Drugged | **Withdrawal**

Eggsy was sitting in the bedroom, staring out the open window. He’d been kept at the Kingsman mansion, although… he wasn’t chained, wasn’t a prisoner. He’d gone outside on his own, _once_. He’d been out for no more than five minutes before the panic set in and he all but fled indoors.

His therapist had sent Harry up to talk to him, to reassure him that it had been perfectly fine to be outside. With his captor’s death at Harry’s hands, and his subsequent freedom, Eggsy had automatically begun deferring to Harry and Harry’s judgement.

His therapist, psychiatrist, and doctor all came up from the underground offices to tend to him. His doctor had tried to get him to go down to Medical, but Eggsy had panicked at the idea of going down into the basement.

He thought it was… nice, maybe… that they were trying to keep him calm. He’d told his psychiatrist that he’d _be_ perfectly calm if they gave him tranqs. But he wasn’t allowed to have them. They’d given him something to keep the physical withdrawal at bay, but…

He felt empty inside. Part of it was the withdrawal, yes. But… Part of it was leaving sir’s house, and maybe the man himself. It was all he’d known for the last ten years. Everything was now an Unknown to him, and everyone. Roxy came and visited with him every day, and she was nice. He wondered sometimes if Harry / Arthur made her come down to see him, but she seemed to enjoy his company and she was a good distraction from the emptiness inside.

Sometimes he thought about just… ending it all. His therapist assured him that was the withdrawal talking. He figured she was right - she knew more about this shit than he did - but it didn’t help. It didn’t stop that little voice in the back of his mind telling him to do it; nor did it stop the images that came to him of different ways to do it.

The psychiatrist put him on new antidepressants, with the aim of helping him feel more like himself ( _who was that now?_ ) instead of keeping him docile. She told him he would need time for them to take effect; he would have rather been docile than empty.

The bedroom door opened and he looked over. Harry was standing in the doorway. Harry also came to see him a lot. They talked about different things, but Harry never seemed to enjoy their time as much as Roxy did. Probably because of the medal; probably felt like he’d failed in repaying the sacrifice that had kept him alive.

“Hello, sir,” Eggsy said softly.

“You know you may call me ‘Harry’,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

Eggsy knew it; Harry reminded him every time. But… he wasn’t comfortable calling the man who’d essentially taken charge of him as anything _but_ ‘sir’. Harry never nagged him about it though. Just that single reminder every time; the reminder that the door was open whenever he was ready to walk through it. And maybe someday he would be.

“Would you be willing to have a visitor?”

“With you?”

“No,” Harry said. “Instead of me.”

Eggsy shrugged. He wanted to say ‘no’; to say he didn’t want someone _else_. He didn’t want another doctor or another agent or another whatever. He _wanted_ his fuckin’ tranqs; he _wanted_ a decent night’s sleep; he _wanted_ to feel calm and floaty instead of empty. But he wouldn’t tell Harry that.

Harry stepped aside and let the person with him move into the doorway. Eggsy just watched her for a moment. It was his mum. She looked different, and not just older. It took him a moment to place it; she looked _clean_. And she looked like she’d been crying. He knew he should say something. Or get up and run across the room and be wrapped up in her arms.

Instead, he said the only thing that had come to mind: “You ain’t dead.”

She almost looked like she’d been slapped. Eggsy had a feeling it was how he’d said it: with little emotion in it. He watched as she looked at Harry and he could see that she was on the verge of crying again. It should… make him feel bad, and he _knew_ it.

“Eggsy, if you’d rather not see her…”

He shook his head. “Ain’t that. I just…” He sighed and then shrugged. How, exactly, did you explain that it felt like nothing mattered? That everything that _should_ feel good just… didn’t spark anything inside of him?

“Just the withdrawal?” Michelle suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a couple steps toward him. “Harry… told me you were on some real strong tranquilizers. Ain’t what I was on, but… I felt like utter shit.”

“Yeah…”

“Is it alright if I sit with you?’

He motioned to the other chair. “‘s where they all sit, so…”

She brought the chair closer to him and sat. She heard the door close and knew Harry had left them alone. And then she put a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder. God, she wanted to pull him close.

“I _am_ … well… I _should be_ happy to see you,” he said, looking from her hand to her face. “He told me you were gone. I guess cos you left Dean; you was _that_ kinda gone.”

“Yeah, I left him,” she said with a nod. “He… made a few comments after you disappeared. And I…”

“You didn’t have me between the two-a you no more so you were the one he beat on.” That sounded… a lot worse than he’d meant for it to. “I don’t… mean it like that. I…”

“But you’re right,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t the best mother; I’m so sorry, baby.”

“He kept you stoned,” Eggsy said with a shrug. “Mine kept me drugged. The only time I really disobeyed him in the last… I dunno… seven years or so was when he told me to rape Roxy. I was used to him beatin’ on me, hurtin’ me, doin’... things to me. But when he was gonna do it to someone else, it was like I was really seein’ it for the first time again. Same thing, really.”

“Can I hold you?”

Eggsy nodded and let her pull him into her arms. He lay against her, his head on her chest, listening to her heart beating. He closed his eyes, just wanting to feel her holding him; to feel her hands on his back, one of them stroking his hair and down his back.

“Harry said once you’re over the worst of the withdrawal and on a good dose of antidepressants that you can come home,” Michelle said. “If you want to…”

“I want to,” he whispered.

“Things are different now but… my home will _always_ be yours.”

“What’s different? Aside from it not bein’ with Dean.”

“Well…” She took a breath. “For one, I got married again. He’s a good man; treats me so good. We ain’t got a whole lot but… he makes me feel like a queen.”

“Good. You deserve that.”

“And… you have a sister now,” she said tentatively. “Her name’s Daisy. She’s almost seven now.”

He hummed softly. A new step-father and a new sister. He wondered if the man really did treat her well. But if she’d been willing to walk out on Dean, he figured she must have been unwilling to put up with that shit again. And she _seemed_ happy; that was a good thing.

“Bring her by sometime,” he said. “I’d like to get to know her a bit before I…” He trailed off and was quiet for a moment. “Before I go home.”


End file.
